Chapter 2 Lottie

Lottie

I walk across campus with my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, the winter air sharp enough to sting my cheeks. The sky is that washed‑out gray that makes everything feel a little heavier, like the walls of the world are closing in on itself. It fits my mood as I think about life — not in some dramatic, philosophical way, just… the point of everything. The grind. The expectations. The way we’re all supposed to move through this pheromone‑ruled world as if it’s normal.

It’s never felt normal to me.

Most people grow up reading pheromones the way others learn to read facial expressions. They can sense confidence, fear, attraction, dishonesty — all of it, as naturally as breathing. But suppressants dull that sense for me. They turn the world down to a low hum, like someone pressed a pillow over my instincts. They keep me from spiraling if an omega nearby slips into heat, but they also make everything feel muted, like I’m walking through life behind glass.

It was my choice to get on suppressants when I came to school. The haze of pheromones that settled over campus during orientation almost got under my skin. I didn’t want to spend four years wrestling with biology when I could just quiet it.

I’m halfway lost in that thought when an omega stumbles directly into my path.

“S‑sorry,” he blurts, eyes wide, shoulders hunched. A faint cloud of nervous pheromones leaks off him — sharp, jittery, like static buzzing in the air.

I wonder, not for the first time, if omegas realize they emit pheromones for every emotion, not just arousal. Fear. Embarrassment. Stress. It all slips out of them whether they want it to or not. Arousal is the only one that they emit pheromones for willingly. Everything else is instinct, spilling through the cracks.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” I say, stepping back to give him space.

He nods quickly and scurries off, the nervous scent fading behind him like a dissipating mist. I shake my head and keep walking.

I really don’t know how my parents did it — two fated mates working in the same office, day after day, without constantly climbing each other like two vines trying to grow into the same space. That kind of restraint is superhuman. Or maybe it’s love. Or discipline. Or both. Whatever it is, I can’t even handle the pheromones of someone who isn’t my fated mate without suppressants.

The Sciences building looms ahead, all glass and steel, the faint chemical tang already clinging to the air. Another day on the hamster wheel. Keeping my GPA pristine. Pretending I’m not exhausted. Hoping I land the TA position for my neuroengineering class next month. That’ll depend on the new professor, and since I know nothing about them yet, the uncertainty gnaws at me. Still — fingers crossed.

I slip into the lecture hall and take my usual seat, offering a quiet hello to the girl beside me. She studies me for a moment, head tilted slightly.

“You’re Lottie, right?”

I finally look at her properly. She’s attractive — brown hair, gray eyes, a warm expression — but not my type. Not that it matters.

“Yeah, I’m Lottie. You are?”

She brightens. “I’m Sandy. We have a few classes together. I noticed you’re always alone, and I wanted to know if you wanted to be friends.”

I shift, uncomfortable. Friends. I’ve never been good at that. I don’t know how to keep them, how to maintain the emotional upkeep people seem to expect. It always feels like too much work. But maybe now is as good a time as any to stop isolating myself.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I have a one‑track mind in class and don’t really pay attention to the people around me. If you don’t mind me being in my books most of the time, I don’t mind being your friend.”

Her smile blooms — radiant, almost startling in its sincerity — like I’ve handed her something precious.

“No worries. I need a study buddy who actually studies, so you being in the books will help me stay in them too,” she says with a soft laugh.

I smile back and offer my hand. “Nice to meet you, Sandy.”

She takes it gently. Her eyes flutter shut for a brief second at the contact — a tiny, involuntary reaction. I ignore it. I’m not reading into that. Maybe she’s just a sensory person. Or relieved. Or maybe it’s nothing.

Either way, I let it go.

Before I get any further into my story, I should probably introduce myself properly. My name is Charlotte Logan — Lottie to anyone who actually speaks to me, which isn’t many people. I’m twenty years old, an MIT student, and an alpha. I’m also a twin. My brother Charlie — also an alpha — attends MIT with me. We’ve been side by side since the womb, but personality‑wise, we couldn’t be more different.

Charlie is the kind of person who walks into a room and walks out with three new friends and twice as many phone numbers. He’s magnetic without trying, the type who thrives in noise and chaos. His closest friend, Jordan — a beta — latched onto him on day one of orientation, and the two of them have been glued together ever since. They’re the kind of duo who always have a story to tell, usually involving a party, a dare, or a questionable decision.

Me? I’m the opposite. I’m perfectly content staying in my room with my textbooks, my notes, and the quiet hum of my desk lamp. I don’t want anything distracting me from my degree. Not parties, not people, not pheromone drama. So I keep my head down, my nose to the books, and my world small.

I’m originally from New York — born and raised in a loud, loving family. Aside from Charlie, I have two younger siblings: Lilliana, thirteen, and already convinced she knows everything, and Luca, eight, and still convinced superheroes are real. Having siblings that young makes me feel ancient sometimes, like I’m living two different lifetimes at once. But having Charlie my age balances it out. Makes me feel less like I’m drifting alone.

My dad comes from a big family, and my mom has three siblings, so I have a whole constellation of aunts, uncles, and cousins scattered across the city. Holidays are chaos. Loud, affectionate chaos. I love them, but I also love the quiet I’ve carved out for myself here.

Anyway, now that you know a bit about me, I’ll get back to the story.

Class ends, and I gather my things, slipping out of the lecture hall with Sandy trailing behind me. 

I pull my phone from my pocket and fire off a text to Charlie:

Hey, what are you up to? Wanna grab lunch?

It takes a few minutes for him to respond — probably because Jordan has him wrapped up in something:

Hey, can’t right now. Traveling with Jordan for a project.

I shake my head. I already knew he’d be busy, but I like to ask anyway. It’s a habit. A twin thing.

Sandy touches my arm lightly, her fingers warm through my jacket sleeve. I glance over.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, tucking my phone away. “Just trying to catch up with my brother, but he’s busy.”

She hesitates, then asks softly, “Well… if you don’t have anything planned, do you wanna grab lunch with me?”

I study her for a moment. There’s no reason to refuse. If I’m going to try this whole friendship thing, I have to actually show up for it.

“Sure,” I say. “I’d love to. Did you have anywhere in mind?”

She shrugs, ponytail bouncing. “I figured we could go to the cafeteria. They have takeout vendors today.”

“That sounds good.”

Her smile brightens — open, warm, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’ve done something right without knowing what. “Okay, great. Let’s go!”

I follow her across campus to the cafeteria. The place is buzzing with lunchtime energy — voices overlapping, trays clattering, the faint scent of spices and frying oil drifting from the vendor stalls. We hover for a moment, scanning the options, before settling on Thai. The line moves quickly, and soon we’re carrying steaming containers of food toward a quieter corner of the room.

We sit across from each other, the table tucked against a window overlooking the quad. It’s peaceful here, away from the main crowd. We start eating, and it doesn’t take long before Sandy breaks the silence.

“I noticed you a long time ago,” she says, twirling noodles around her fork. “But you always seemed so… unapproachable. I was scared to introduce myself. I finally worked up the courage, and you’re nicer than I thought.”

I smile, amused. “Most people look at me that way, so I’m not surprised. I just have no tolerance for nonsense and bullshit. So if that scared you off, you must’ve been full of it.”

Her eyes widen before she bursts into laughter — loud, genuine, the kind that makes her shoulders shake. She wipes at her eyes.

“Wow. I never expected something like that from you. There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”

I smirk. “Only those brave enough to get to know me figure that out.”

She leans back, still smiling. “Well, I’m glad I was brave enough. I think I’m going to like you.”

A small warmth settles in my chest. “You don’t seem so bad yourself.”